by John Varley
"What did he find out?"
"Nothing, it looks like. An 8-bit unit is more complex than a neuron, and no computer is in the same galaxy as an organic brain. But see, the words get tricky. I said an Atari is more complex than a neuron, but it's hard to really compare them. It's like comparing a direction with a distance, or a color with a mass. The units are different. Except for one similarity."
"What's that?"
"The connections. Again, it's different, but the concept of networking is the same. A neuron is connected to a lot of others. There are trillions of them, and the way messages pulse through them determines what we are and what we think and what we remember. And with that computer I can reach a million others. It's bigger than the human brain, really, because the information in that network is more than all humanity could cope with in a million years. It reaches from Pioneer Ten, out beyond the orbit of Pluto, right into every living room that has a telephone in it. With that com-puter you can tap tons of data that has been collected but nobody's even had the time to look at.
"That's what Kluge was interested in. The old 'critical mass computer' idea, the computer that becomes aware, but with a new angle. Maybe it wouldn't be the size of the computer, but the number of computers. There used to be thousands of them. Now there's millions. They're putting them in cars. In wristwatches. Every home has several, from the simple timer on a microwave oven up to a video game or home terminal. Kluge was trying to find out if critical mass could be reached that way."
"What did he think?"
"I don't know. He was just getting started." She glanced down at me. "But you know what, Yank? I think you've reached critical mass while I wasn't looking."
"I think you're right." I reached for her.
Lisa liked to cuddle. I didn't, at first, after fifty years of sleeping alone. But I got to like it pretty quickly.
That's what we were doing when we resumed the conversation we had been having. We just lay in each other's arms and talked about things. Nobody had mentioned love yet, but I knew I loved her. I didn't know what to do about it, but I would think of something.
"Critical mass," I said. She nuzzled my neck, and yawned.
"What about it?"
"What would it be like? It seems like it would be such a vast intelligence. So quick, so omniscient. God-like."
"Could be."
"Wouldn't it… run our lives? I guess I'm asking the same questions I started off with. Would it take over?"
She thought about it for a long time.
"I wonder if there would be anything to take over. I mean, why should it care? How could we figure what its concerns would be? Would it want to be worshipped, for instance? I doubt it. Would it want to 'rationalize all human behavior, to eliminate all emotion,' as I'm sure some sci-fi film computer must have told some damsel in distress in the 'fifties.
"You can use a word like awareness, but what does it mean? An amoeba must be aware. Plants probably are. There may be a level of awareness in a neuron. Even in an integrated circuit chip. We don't even know what our own aware-ness really is. We've never been able to shine a light on it, dissect it, figure out where it comes from or where it goes when we're dead. To apply human values to a thing like this hypothetical computer-net consciousness would be pretty stupid. But I don't see how it could interact with human awareness at all. It might not even notice us, any more than we notice cells in our bodies, or neutrinos passing through us, or the vibrations of the atoms in the air around us."
So she had to explain what a neutrino was. One thing I always provided her with was an ignorant audience. And after that, I pretty much forgot about our mythical hyper-computer.
"What about your Captain?" I asked, much later.
"Do you really want to know, Yank?" she mumbled, sleepily.
"I'm not afraid to know."
She sat up and reached for her cigarettes. I had come to know she sometimes smoked them in times of stress. She had told me she smoked after making love, but that first time had been the only time. The lighter flared in the dark. I heard her exhale.
"My Major, actually. He got a promotion. Do you want to know his name?"
"Lisa, I don't want to know any of it if you don't want to tell it. But if you do, what I want to know is did he stand by you."
"He didn't marry me, if that's what you mean. When he knew he had to go, he said he would, but I talked him out of it. Maybe it was the most noble thing I ever did. Maybe it was the most stupid.
"It's no accident I look Japanese. My grandmother was raped in '42 by a Jap soldier of the occupation. She was Chinese, living in Hanoi. My mother was born there. They went south after Dien Bien Phu. My grandmother died. My mother had it hard. Being Chinese was tough enough, but being half Chinese and half Japanese was worse. My father was half French and half Annamese. Another bad combination. I never knew him. But I'm sort of a capsule history of Vietnam."
The end of her cigarette glowed brighter once more.
"I've got one grandfather's face and the other grandfather's height. With tits by Goodyear. About all I missed was some American genes, but I was working on that for my children.
"When Saigon was falling I tried to get to the American Embassy. Didn't make it. You know the rest, until I got to Thailand, and when I finally got Americans to notice me, it turned out my Major was still looking for me. He sponsored me over here, and I made it in time to watch him die of cancer. Two months I had with him, all of it in the hospital."
"My god." I had a horrible thought. "That wasn't the war, too, was it? I mean, the story of your life-"
"-is the rape of Asia. No, Victor. Not that war, anyway. But he was one of those guys who got to see atom bombs up close, out in Nevada. He was too Regular Army to complain about it. but I think he knew that's what killed him."
"Did you love him?"
"What do you want me to say? He got me out of hell."
Again the cigarette flared, and I saw her stub it out.
"No," she said. "I didn't love him. He knew that. I've never loved anybody. He was very dear, very special to me. I would have done almost anything for him. He was fatherly to me." I felt her looking at me in the dark. "Aren't you going to ask how old he was?"
"Fiftyish," I said.
"On the nose. Can I ask you something?"
"I guess it's your turn."
"How many girls have you had since you got back from Korea?"
I held up my hand and pretended to count on my fingers.
"One," I said, at last.
"How many before you went?"
"One. We broke up before I left for the war."
"How many in Korea?"
"Nine. All at Madame Park's jolly little whorehouse in Pusan."
"So you've made love to one white and ten Asians. I bet none of the others were as tall as me."
"Korean girls have fatter cheeks, too. But they all had your eyes."
She nuzzled against my chest, took a deep breath, and sighed.
"We're a hell of a pair, aren't we?"
I hugged her, and her breath came again, hot on my chest.
I wondered how I'd lived so long without such a simple miracle as that.
"Yes. I think we really are."
Osborne came by again about a week later. He seemed subdued. He listened to the things Lisa had decided to give him without much interest. He took the printout she handed him, and promised to turn it over to the departments that handled those things. But he didn't get up to leave.
"I thought I ought to tell you, Apfel," he said, at last. "The Gavin case has been closed."
I had to think a moment to remember Kluge's real name had been Gavin.
"The coroner ruled suicide a long time ago. I was able to keep the case open quite a while on the strength of my suspicions." He nodded toward Lisa. "And on what she said about the suicide note. But there was just no evidence at all."
"It probably happened quickly," Lisa said. "Somebody caught him, tracked him back-it can be
done; Kluge was lucky for a long time-and did him the same day."
"You don't think it was suicide?" I asked Osborne.
"No. But whoever did it is home free unless something new turns up."
"I'll tell you if it does," Lisa said.
"That's something else," Osborne said. "I can't authorize you to work over there any more. The county's taken possession of house and contents."
"Don't worry about it," Lisa said, softly.
There was a short silence as she leaned over to shake a cigarette from the pack on the coffee table. She lit it, exhaled, and leaned back beside me, giving Osborne her most inscrutable look. He sighed.
"I'd hate to play poker with you, lady," he said. "What do you mean, 'Don't worry about it'?"
"I bought the house four days ago. And its contents. If anything turns up that would help you re-open the murder investigation, I will let you know."
Osborne was too defeated to get angry. He studied her quietly for a while.
"I'd like to know how you swung that."
"I did nothing illegal. You're free to check it out. I paid good cash money for it. The house came onto the market. I got a good price at the Sheriffs sale."
"How'd you like it if I put my best men on the transaction? See if they can dig up some funny money? Maybe fraud. How about I get the F.B.I, in to look it all over?"
She gave him a cool look.
"You're welcome to. Frankly, Detective Osborne, I could have stolen that house, Griffith Park, and the Harbor Freeway and I don't think you could have caught me."
"So where does that leave me?"
"Just where you were. With a closed case, and a promise from me."
"I don't like you having all that stuff, if it can do the things you say it can do."
"I didn't expect you would. But that's not your department, is it? The county owned it for a while, through simple confiscation. They didn't know what they had, and they let it go-"
"Maybe I can get the Fraud detail out here to confiscate your software. There's criminal evidence on it."
"You could try that," she agreed.
They stared at each other for a while. Lisa won. Osborne rubbed his eyes and nodded. Then he heaved himself to his feet and slumped to the door.
Lisa stubbed out her cigarette. We listened to him going down the walk.
"I'm surprised he gave up so easy," I said. "Or did he? Do you think he'll try a raid?"
"It's not likely. He knows the score."
"Maybe you could tell it to me."
"For one thing, it's not his department, and he knows it."
"Why did you buy the house?"
"You ought to ask how."
I looked at her closely. There was a gleam of amusement behind the poker face.
"Lisa. What did you do?"
"That's what Osborne asked himself. He got the right answer, because he understands Kluge's machines. And he knows how things get done. It was no accident that house going on the market, and no accident I was the only bidder. I used one of Kluge's pet councilmen."
"You bribed him?"
She laughed, and kissed me.
"I think I finally managed to shock you, Yank. That's gotta be the biggest difference between me and a native-born American. Average citizens don't spend much on bribes over here. In Saigon, everybody bribes."
"Did you bribe him?"
"Nothing so indelicate. One has to go in the back door over here. Several entirely legal campaign contributions appeared in the accounts of a State Senator, who mentioned a certain situation to someone, who happened to be in the position to do legally what I happened to want done." She looked at me askance. "Of course I bribed him, Victor. You'd be amazed to know how cheaply. Does that bother you?"
"Yes," I admitted. "I don't like bribery."
"I'm indifferent to it. It happens, like gravity. It may not be admirable, but it gets things done."
"I assume you covered yourself."
"Reasonably well. You're never entirely covered with a bribe, because of the human element. The councilman might geek if they got him in front of a grand jury. But they won't, because Osborne won't pursue it. That's the second reason he walked out of here without a fight. He knows how the world wobbles, he knows what kind of force I now possess, and he knows he can't fight it."
There was a long silence after that. I had a lot to think about, and I didn't feel good about most of it. At one point Lisa reached for the pack of cigarettes, then changed her mind. She waited for me to work it out.
"It is a terrific force, isn't it," I finally said.
"It's frightening," she agreed. "Don't think it doesn't scare me. Don't think I haven't had fantasies of being super-woman. Power is an awful temptation, and it's not easy to reject. There's so much I could do."
"Will you?"
"I'm not talking about stealing things, or getting rich."
"I didn't think you were."
"This is political power. But I don't know how to wield it… it sounds corny, but to use it for good. I've seen so much evil come from good intentions. I don't think I'm wise enough to do any good. And the chances of getting torn up like Kluge did are large. But I'm not wise enough to walk away from it.
I'm still a street urchin from Saigon, Yank. I'm smart enough not to use it unless I have to. But I can't give it away, and I can't destroy it. Is that stupid?"
I didn't have a good answer for that one. But I had a bad feeling.
My doubts had another week to work on me. I didn't come to any great moral conclusions. Lisa knew of some crimes, and she wasn't reporting them to the authorities. That didn't bother me much. She had at her fingertips the means to commit more crimes, and that bothered me a lot. Yet I really didn't think she planned to do anything. She was smart enough to use the things she had only in a defensive way- but with Lisa that could cover a lot of ground.
When she didn't show up for dinner one evening, I went over to Kluge's and found her busy in the living room. A nine-foot section of shelving had been cleared. The discs and tapes were stacked on a table. She had a big plastic garbage can and a magnet the size of a softball. I watched her wave a tape near the magnet, then toss it in the garbage can, which was almost full. She glanced up, did the same operation with a handful of discs, then took off her glasses and wiped her eyes.
"Feel any better now, Victor?" she asked.
"What do you mean? I feel fine."
"No you don't. And I haven't felt right, either. It hurts me to do it, but I have to. You want to go get the other trash can?''
I did, and helped her pull more software from the shelves.
"You're not going to wipe it all, are you?"
"No. I'm wiping records, and… something else."
"Are you going to tell me what?"
"There are things it's better not to know," she said, darkly.
I finally managed to convince her to talk over dinner. She had said little, just eating and shaking her head. But she gave in.
"Rather dreary, actually," she said. "I've been probing around some delicate places the last couple days. These are places Kluge visited at will, but they scare the hell out of me. Dirty places. Places where they know things I thought I'd like to find out."
She shivered, and seemed reluctant to go on. "Are you talking about military computers? The CIA?"
"The CIA is where it starts. It's the easiest. I've looked around at NOR AD-that's the guys who get to fight the next war. It makes me shiver to see how easy Kluge got in there. He cobbled up a way to start World War Three, just as an exercise. That's one of the things we just erased. The last two days I was nibbling around the edges of the big boys. The Defense Intelligence Agency and the National Security… something. DIA and NSA. Each of them is bigger than the CIA. Something knew I was there. Some watchdog program. As soon as I realized that I got out quick, and I've spent the last five hours being sure it didn't follow me. And now I'm sure, and I've destroyed all that, too."
"You think they're
the ones who killed Kluge?"
"They're surely the best candidates. He had tons of their stuff. I know he helped design the biggest installations at NSA, and he'd been poking around in there for years. One false step is all it would take."
"Did you get it all? I mean, are you sure?"
"I'm sure they didn't track me. I'm not sure I've destroyed all the records. I'm going back now to take a last look."
"I'll go with you."
We worked until well after midnight. Lisa would review a tape or a disc, and if she was in any doubt, toss it to me for the magnetic treatment. At one point, simply because she was unsure, she took the magnet and passed it in front of an entire shelf of software.
It was amazing to think about it. With that one wipe she had randomized billions of bits of information. Some of it might not exist anywhere else in the world. I found myself confronted by even harder questions. Did she have the right to do it? Didn't knowledge exist for everyone? But I confess I had little trouble quelling my protests. Mostly I was happy to see it go. The old reactionary in me found it easier to believe There Are Things We Are Not Meant To Know.
We were almost through when her monitor screen began to malfunction. It actually gave off a few hisses and pops, so Lisa stood back from it for a moment, then the screen started to flicker. I stared at it for a while. It seemed to me there was an image trying to form in the screen. Something three-dimen-sional. Just as I was starting to get a picture of it I happened to glance at Lisa, and she was looking at me. Her face was flickering. She came to me and put her hands over my eyes.
"Victor, you shouldn't look at that."
"It's okay," I told her. And when I said it, it was, but as soon as I had the words out I knew it wasn't. And that is the last thing I remembered for a long time.
I'm told it was a very bad two weeks. I remember very little of it. I was kept under high dosage of drugs, and my few lucid periods were always followed by a fresh seizure.